[Freddy shows up dressed as only a Southern Californian in cold weather would: decked out in his t-shirt under the hoodie under the leather jacket over his jeans and boots because dang it never ever snows in Los Angeles. The Britches and Hose is warm enough to remove one layer, one. He drapes his jacket over one arm and looks over the patrons for one Angela M.
If she sees him first one hopes she can swallow the way he looks, his face is still showing cuts and bruises a week old but at least the swelling's down.]
[Last time they met in a public eatery, she killed her waiting time by doodling. Tonight, though, her art mood is dead to the world and she sits there in a back booth, head in her hands, looking a lot better than she feels. For now. Without her brightly colored blouse, Angela would just blend into the rest of the boozed up crowd. At least she's easy to spot.]
[He's still got the eyes of an observant cop so here comes Freddy Newendyke whose shadow casts a barely there darkness over one side of the booth in the already somewhat low lit establishment.]
Hey. [He's leaning first, not helping himself to a seat. Manners you see.] Can I join?
[Angela cards her hands through her hair as she looks up, dropping them down to the table when she gets an eyeful of Freddy. Well, Freddy and the mess of his face. Did she promise not to freak out? Too bad. She's about to break that promise.]
Nothing to worry about? Somebody used your face as a punching bag and there's nothing to worry about? Steve... Chris... whatever your name is, who did this to you?
[There's a bright side to her worrying about him. It's a great distraction from her own issues.]
[He delivers that name with such cool levelheadedness who knows if it's a joke or not. As for who did this Freddy just licks his teeth while his gaze goes that-a-way.]
It's okay I got it worked out, we're cool. Anyway we're not here to talk about me we're supposed to be talking about you. Shitfaced?
[Since everybody is taking names from the Crayola collection nowadays. Angela doesn't even care about his name anymore. She's more concerned about the fact that he managed to keep getting himself injured more often than not.]
[Angela rolls her eyes as she waves to the bartender to send her over the first drink of the night. One vodka shot gets chugged down and grimaced at before she mutters out a reply.]
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If she sees him first one hopes she can swallow the way he looks, his face is still showing cuts and bruises a week old but at least the swelling's down.]
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Hey. [He's leaning first, not helping himself to a seat. Manners you see.] Can I join?
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...The hell happened to you?
[Can her eyes get any wider?]
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[Freddy waves his hand trying to downplay the wreckage. On that note he helps himself to a seat opposite Angela. Moving along now.]
Did you get started without me?
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[There's a bright side to her worrying about him. It's a great distraction from her own issues.]
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[He delivers that name with such cool levelheadedness who knows if it's a joke or not. As for who did this Freddy just licks his teeth while his gaze goes that-a-way.]
It's okay I got it worked out, we're cool. Anyway we're not here to talk about me we're supposed to be talking about you. Shitfaced?
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[Since everybody is taking names from the Crayola collection nowadays. Angela doesn't even care about his name anymore. She's more concerned about the fact that he managed to keep getting himself injured more often than not.]
You're the one with the bruises.
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[That's an honest friendly remark. As for the bruises he shakes his head.] I don't feel like gettin' shitfaced over'em.
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Guess we have different coping mechanisms.
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[He's got an idea but no need to make presumptions just yet.]
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